Kids in the Hall-I Speak No English

The Kids In The Hall - The Pit Of Ultimate Darkness

Kids in the Hall: Creative Possibilties

non-olypmpian gods

Voltron Gets Served

To nibble my kibble is to DIE!

he walks away now, but she knows where he sleeps

Joyous News!

How could i forget? i'd like to say As-Salamu Alaikum to two of the best mortal humans i've ever met. Brend & Jazz, congratulations on your nuptials and I, as well as all of mt. olympia, wish you the all the best.
ps. Queens isn't that far from ottawa u (not so subtle invitation to nights of good-natured, well-mannered, help-an-old-lady-carry-her-parcels type of debauchery. oh yeah, old lady's parcels)

allworkandnosleepmaket-shirtedcentaurgo...

proliferus was a tired old man. he wasn't particulary funny, he wasn't particularly clever, and he smelt terrible, but he was up at an odd hour and struggled valiantly to fill his time with something other than what he was being paid to do.

t-shirtedcentaur, t-shirted centaur, t-shirt wearing centaur,
you chest is no longer defined, your legs are whitered and weak
and an "F" precedes the "L" that, in turn, preceedes your abs

noble half-man, nobler half-horse
sagitarius aint' got shit on you
cause investment bankers rule

so tired, so, so tired.
i see things aren't there
and rabbits who do nothing but stare
but i'll be damned if
that revlon masacara don't add flare

Ode to Mr. Wiggums

cats. yes, cats. they are cuddly, they are cute, and they are killers! your cat's face, the selfsame face you've kissed on so many occassions, is the snarling face of death that terrifed inumerable woodland type creatures and the odd sleep walking infant (oh, it happens!) in their last desperate moments. think of that cute wittle pink nose covered in the entrails of those it had bested in fierce battle; mr wiggums, indeed!

cat tenderizing baby

you'll find out the hard way that thier playfulness is subterfuge


Death's Sonic Harbinger

Fear the reaper's call

Middle Class Sunday (Or, When Your Existence Is a Crime)

Indicators that you're in some kind of trouble:

- calculating how much fat was in that squeze tube of cake icing you just ate.
- looking up the list "famous suicides" on wikipedia
- watching mary kate/ashely olson on tv and thinkng "if only i had their lives"
- masturbating becomes a joyless chore - but you do it anyway
- you're on a date with a beautiful girl and she utters the following passage in a non-ironic, totally sincere, and absolutely earnest way:

"I just want a tall guy, with abs, a good job, blond hair, blue eyes, who'll buy me lots of nice things. We'll have a huge wedding, a honeymoon in hawaii, and i'll have 10 babies in the first 15 years of our glorious marriage.
he'll buy me a huge house with a white picket (sp?) fence in an exclusive [read: all white] neighborhood where i'll bake billions of brownies. my brownies will be the best in the pta because i'll have found a way to bake rainbows and sunshine into them and when the kids bite into them you'll hear nothing but thier [white] laughter and joy.
My husband will tell me stories of how he fired lazy workers [read: non whites] and we'll laugh because we know the bonus he'll get for firing them will buy all sorts of the lattest wonderfull toys for our 9 tall boys and our single beautiful girl.
Our children will be oh so smart - but not smart enough to sass Jesus's teachings and the Truth as dictated by the good book - and they'll excell at all sorts of sports, except the girl; she'll excell at ballet and will one day be prom queen.
Oh the world is a rosy and wonderfull place! "

--- the VILEST, most DESPICABLE, MONSTER to have ever sipped an iced cappuchino in an Ottawa Tim Hortons.


Being a centaur, I've dealt with evil creature before but this, this ... scary. if you come across this monster DO NOT APPROACH IT! Dispatch a minotaur as soon as possible and hopefully it will devour this abomination and eventually excrete it in foul smelling clumps - an infinite improvement over their previous form.

Mortal Humans are incapable of goodness. that's it, you're a pile of wretched, filthy little creatures, with no hope for ... no. I'm sorry. One shit head does not condemn an entire species. Please, i beg of you once more: be decent to one another and for Zeus's sake strive to better yourselves. Don't let this happen to you.

bitter sweet jesus i'm tired.

hours in last four days = 96
hours i've slept in last four days=16.

16 motherfuckerless hours. they weren't even good hours, they were restless. resltess! why, sweet merciful god that most assuredly does not exist in this or any other plane, do you hate me so? is it the four horse legs? why, oh why, can't i sleep? is it a curse? has some fucking olympian freak put a curse on me, the friendliest of all centaurs?

do you know how nice i was to those zeusass kissing, sychophant, fuckers before i left? sweeter than dakota fanning drowning in a vat of aspartame that is itself being immersed into a larger vat of a previously unseen honey/molasses hybrid so sticky that even space and time cannot escape it thereby creating a vacuum so intense that existence as we know it is shred to ribbons leaving a strange quasi-portal to a new plane of existence replete with 860 dimensions and the mindware upload that enables us to perceive them. that is fucking sweet my friends. the only thing sweeter would be a dadaist universe bereft of all suffering (? - even i'm not sure where i'm going, gone, am, on this one - did i mention how tired i am?) , but i digress.

the point is that i'm a nice guy, i'm super friendly, i'm ultra considerate of the feelings of others, and am stupid enough to do all of hercules's labours 'cause i believed that he had actually broken his leg, but the gods still fuck with old t-shirtedcentaur just 'cause he's made some goddamn money in the investment banking scene! so i like mergers, sue me! (note: please don't sue. if you do peruse legal recourse against me, i suggest you speak with my lawyer Mr. Melvin A. Minotaur). so the centaur likes dough, get over it! throw me nutrigrain bar over here. i didn't leave 'cause i thought i was better than you, i left 'cause i was interested in the mortal world (oh, alright, i left to see human ankles - oh how i covet them so).

argghh. i'm so tired! so tired, too tired to sleep, to tired to eat, to tired to rub my rump up against a tree branch, too goddamn tired to live. i see these mortal fuckers downing red bull like it's going out of style - hey, didn't you notice that weird fact about red bull? you know the one. how it tastes like ass.

so deliriousl...

sleep is for the weak (i'm so tired)

Here it is, 0515, 5:15 a.m., or as i like to call it five fucking fifteen in the goddamn morning. Why the fuck am I still awake! Oh sweet Zeus, why can't I fall asleep! [undecipherable crying noises]. Sure, it takes a bit longer to say, but it's five o'clock in the morning and i don't have cable; i've got time. so, here I am, typing away trying to use my time creatively instead of laying on my straw pile/Serta mattress combo weeping softly to my self. Huh? Oh, the straw pile/Serta mattress thing. Well, being a 1000 lbs puts a lot of pressure on a mattress so my horse body lays down on the straw pile while my torso lies down on the Serta single mattress that I’ve laid down beside it. it ain't pretty but it works.

I was checking some videos out on youtube - I love you youtube. You make procrastination so much fun - when I noticed a disturbing trend. Whenever someone disapproves of a video they often levy the "this is the gayest video on youtube" charge against it. The gayest video? What does that mean? None of the videos slammed as being the "the gayest video on youtube" were the slightest bit gay. As a 1000lb, 600 year old, investment banking, t-shirted centaur, I know a thing or two about prejudice and how much it hurts. So, in an attempt to enlighten the homophobes skulking about the youtube universe, while simultaneously trying to help those who may not understand the homophobic implications of their usage, I thought I’d offer this mini-tutorial.

Let’s begin:

Gay or Not Gay?

1^st VIDEO

A pre-teen Belgian boy singing about his (probably fictional) girlfriend while dancing (poorly)

Gay or Not gay?

Sad and hilarious but not gay.

2^nd VIDEO

A guy blowing another guy while listening to Elton John.

Potentially gay

3^rd VIDEO

A 17 yr old Australian girl rapping in response to someone named "lazydork"

Mildly amusing, probably not gay (didn’t listen to all the lyrics)

4^th VIDEO

Your dad kissing your uncle

Gay. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.
p.s. He's actually "uncle" Billy and don't worry, your mom's cool with it.

5^TH VIDEO

A young man filming his prowess with a golfclub/lightsaber for posterity

Ill-advised but not gay


I hope this helps. Mortal humans, please, I beg of you, be kind to one another. Don't let little things like sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, weight, height, or four horse legs define an individual or influence your opinion of them. Judge people by their actions, by their choices, not by their accidents*. Unless of course they're unicorns - fuck unicorns!

*in the philosophical sense, not in the "oops, i accidentally filmed myself having sex with your mom and left the tape in the vcr that i gave you for your birthday" sense. you can totally hate someone for that.

Honorific's don't excuse ignorance

I'm at work and the old man's on a rampage so i've got to make this one short. normally, on a day like this, there's no way i'd risk getting caught blogging on my office computer but i had a run in with some street toughs today that has left me a bit shaken.

now, i know that i'm 1,000 lb centaur but that doesn't mean i can't feel vulnerable. People don't or can't seem to understand that. I woke up this morning feeling great. I spent last night eating pizza and watching the second season of arrested development which, for my hard earned investment banking money, is the best television show of all time - despite it's wanton lack of centaurs. suffice to say it was a raucus good time. so, when i woke up i was feeling great. the sun was shining, the air was crisp and clean, and i had visions of the bluths dancing in my head.

side bar: is it wrong to think maeby is hot? probably, i am approximately 583 yrs older than she is. of course, i'm also attracted to jessica walters and i'm still about 540yrs older than she is. of course, i'm also becoming attracted to tobias funke which is the development that's got me the most rattled - i think it's the blue skin.

anyway, i felt so great this morning that i decided to put on a new t-shirt! wow, was i in a good mood. i selected a brand spanking new sonic youth t-shirt (i'm ashamed to admit that it's not a concert t, but am proud to admit that it's an iron on of my own design). so there i am, taking the freight elevator down to the lobby of building, ipod blasting everything from hayden, cake, to the decemberists (i love these guys! although, for some strange reason i often refer to them as the decemberries. i don't know. i'm 600 yr old, 1000 lb, t-shirt wearing, investment banking centaur, it's bound to get a little weird in that brain of mine.). wow, was i feeling great.

i step out onto the street - well, back alley actually, my buildings management asks me to exit through the rear. something to do about hoof marks on the marble. i don't know - feeling like a million bucks. i get to the sidewalk, whcih is bustling, and start wondering if i've forgotten the rachael blake portfolio (not that rachael blake). i keep walking but turn my torso briefly to check my louis vuitton saddle bag to ensure that the portfolio is indeed there, when i accidentally brush up against someone. i immediately stop to apologize and ask if they're alright and i come face to face with Paris Hilton. wow. i'll admit, i dislike what i know of her. maybe she's a nice person but from what i've gathered through various forms of media i dislike her.

me - oh, my! i'm sorry ma'am! i should have been paying more attention to where i was walking.

paris hilton - you stupid...what the fuck are you?

me- oh, i'm a t-shirt wearing centaur.

paris hilton - gross. you got nag hair all over my purse. get him baby luv.

me - hey, look at you little kinkajou! shouldn't you be in a rainforest somewhere?

babyluv/alberto - holy shit! an honest to goodness t-shirt wearing centaur! my great-grand pa used to tell us stories about you fellas. nice to meet you. the name's alberto

me - nice to meet you. what's the deal here? you training her or something?

paris hilton - what the fuck are you talking about? listen, get your stanky nag ass away from me mr. ed.

alberto - sorry about that. this kid's not the brightest star in the sky but she's got an assload of money apparently. one day i fall asleep in the rainforest and the next thing i know this genius is trying to get me to sniff cocaine. i'm from south america for christ's sake! if i did want to do coke, i wouldn't do the stepped on shit she's getting. hell, from the looks of it, it was mostly ajax.

me - yikes. sorry to hear about that man. you could always bite her. they'd probably send you to some swanky zoo.

alberto - ughh! gag me! bite her?! you obviously don't know what i know.

me - dude. there are no human diseases that can affect you. you're on the lucky end of the cross-species resistance/transmission spectrum. you can give her all sorts of diseases and she can't give you squat!

alberto - seriously? i could kiss you bro! my great grand pa was right about you people - you're a sage and compassionate species.

me - thanks. i wish we could say the same about them [motioning to paris]

paris hilton - have you been sniffing the glue they made out of your mom? are you a fucknig lunatic horse of something?

alberto - my friend, allow me [bites paris]

paris hilton - OOOOWWWW!

alberto - [laughing] oh god! did that feel good! i don't care what happens, being confined to this knock off purse is a fate worse than death. a knock off! she's a fucking millionaire, you'd think she'd know the difference!

me - god speed friend. god speed.

alberto - thank you.

paris hilton - i've got to get to a doctor! bad baby luv. i'll call my publicist, he returns my calls. ughh, get the fuck out of the way stinky horse [pushing past me and walking into street]

alberto - think well of me, noble centaur!

me - [tearing up a bit] i will friend, i will

NOTE: centuars are fluent in every language. it's a thing we do.

another day, another heinous speciesist act. poor alberto. sure, she called me a nag, insulted my hygiene, insulted my mother, and called me mr. ed. but she had alberto abducted, renamed him babyluv, kept him in a bag, and tried to make him snort cocaine. i've been thinking about him all day and can only hope that if he's not returned to his homeland that he'll at least be sent to a zoo with a great enclosure and a hot kinkajoette.

Via con dios alberto, via con dios.

Give the Love Fuck a Chance

- Zeus picking up




Blah! Blah, blah, bin Blahblah blala. That's where I'm at today. I finally bit the bullet and asked one of my co-workers out on a date. she turned me down flat. i couldn't beleive it. i was stunned, as we had been getting along so famously, and must have looked perplexed because she offered an explanation: "it's just that, well, you see, i don't date 600 year old, t-shirt wearing, investment banking centaurs." wow. in this day and age.

Unfuckingbelievable! Zeus, the king of mother fucking (often literally) gods, would assume the form of a goddamn goat and the hottest mortal women in attic greece would flock to him. But, this, this speciesist, won't date an incredibly handsome centaur with an immaculately pressed t-shirt. What the fuck? whatever happened to "t-shirted centaur, you're my best friend. there's no one i'd rather talk to"? Huh? I've given her rides home (on my back!), I've counselled her in times of grief, I've made her laugh, i've given her the support and understanding required to keep any psychologically complex being afloat in this unduly harsh realm and she has the audacity to reject me on the grounds that i've got four horse legs! Oh, there must be a centaur hating god in office 'cause this is FCUKING RIDICULOUS!


Come on! What kind of world is this were your professed best friend isn't good enough to be your "soulmate" by virtue of his enormous horse penis and cloven hooves? She says she's not into fur - technically it's hair! look, i don't know a lot of people that are into paraplegics but what kind of sick, superficial, sad excuse of a sentient creature would reject someone they've truly connected with simply becuase he or she can't use their legs? come on! i can't imagine this conversation: " look, i know i said you were my soulmate, but my i like my soulmate with two fully functional (mortal human) legs. so, i guess what i'm saying is, get the fuck out of my house and take that colostomy bag with you." Who the fuck would do that?! what the fuck? why are you fucking mortals blessed with the capacity to love when you're clearly unable to use it properly? is that your doing aphrodite? some sort of gag or is this the work of pan that rotund little fuck? lay off the deep dish you fucking pig.

Would sex be a bit different with me? yes. yes it would, but we'd make it work. you think i like fucking mortal women? Well I do, but it took some getting used to. Look, i'm not saying horse vagina is better, i'm just saying that it's much different than a mortal woman's vagina. But again, vaginas AREN'T the issue. The issue, my mortal friends, is that LOVE is SUPPOSED to be BLIND. That was supposed to be the beauty of internet dating, but now it's all about pictures, race, weight, height - fuck, don't forget to ask if they've got webbed feet or a third penis. Look mortals, find someone who'll respect the WHOLE you, the REAL you, AKA your MIND! arghhhh!

look, sex is great. i love sex and i understand the need/desire to fuck someone you're attracted to. fine, but your perception of the external world is mediated by your body and brain. the more you invest in someone, the more attractive they become to you.

fucking for fucking's sake is great but fucking for love and passion is better. And, if that's really not working for ya, then get into a polyamourous relationship. i remember this one time with a satyr and wood nymph... well, i guess that's a story for another day.
t-shirted centaur

one man's ass is another man's pet horse

Arghhh! It’s unbelievable! Fucking unbelievable! Check this out, and then smack the cashier, ‘cause the following tale will most assuredly blow his mind.

I’m squatting behind a cluster of bushes that is flanked by two beautiful and aged oak trees in ******* park (a well worn park in the heart of my fair city) when a good looking middle aged guy locks eyes with me. He tilts his head as if to say “huh,” then scans to the left and spies my rear end performing its noble duties at the other end of my impromptu flora commode. Then, and this is the hilarious part, he says, “I hope you’ve got a plastic bag with which you will pick up your friend's, how do we say, substantial contribution to our park.” Embarrassed and slightly ashamed of myself, I respond with a humble and measured “unless you wanna be pulling shit tinged horse tail hairs out of your mouth for the rest of the day, you’d better quit staring at my asshole. Nosy fuck!” Inexplicably, he gets all offended and storms off in a huff muttering something about “fucking pet owners” and hunting down a park official. Confused and slightly dismayed, I finish my business, locate a nice patch of lichens to rub my hind quarters on, and resume my lovely walk through the park.

I really love walking through the park. See, I guess I feel closer to the flora and fauna of the park then to my mortal friends and business associates. No one here, judges me, tries to hop on my back, sneaks a peak at my package as I walk by. On the other hand, no one offers me apples, tries to brush me, or sneak a peak at my package as I walk by. The long and the short of it is that I feel at peace here. So, there I am, soaking it all in, listening the ‘clip, clop’ of my feet as stroll leisurely through one of the most beautiful areas this city has to offer when I hear the whir of a four-wheeler. I turn my torso and, sure enough, I spy an eager and over zealous park ranger speeding toward me.

“Hey!” he shouts as he skids to halt inches from my posterior. I know I’m in for some trouble. He’s about 6’, 120 lbs, and so young that I bet he still masturbates to the sears catalogue. He’s so excited about this confrontation that every atom in his body is exploding and the resulting emanations create, what I like to call, a douchebag aura that is actually quite lovely. Unfortunately, being in the presence of a douchebag aura is a mixed blessing. It’s kind of like watching someone dumping slag: while the resulting show can be described as strangely beautiful and enchantingly eerie, it’s still just a bunch of assholes dumping molten poison into the earth; and, just like a molten stew of mercury, lead, and high end steel, excessive levels of douchery are a major source of environmental devastation.

Park ranger – I’ve received a complaint about a man letting his pet horse defecate behind some bushes while he stood guard. What do you know about that?

Me- well, first, was the man standing guard, or was the horse standing guard while he defecated?

PR – no the man wasn't defecating, the horse was defecating

me - while he was standing guard?

Pr- no, the man was standing guard while his horse hide behind some bushes and defecated.

Me – oh. Well in that case, I don’t know anything about that. I did see a man defecating while a horse stood guard, but that’s it.

PR – hmm. Possibly a second infraction… wait a minute! What about you?

Me- well, I like jumping over things, I’m an investment banker, I enjoy rosemary and tyme – the tv show, not the spices, I …

Pr- you know what I mean! You’re him, them, the shitter.

Me- whoa, whoa, whoa! First, I’m a centaur, a man-horse, NOT a man AND a horse. Second, how dare you accuse me of shitting in the woods. I’m not an animal.

PR – you just said you were a horse.

ME- wha…! I’m a man-horse you idiot! Is that badge made of chocolate?

Pr- it’s not chocolate [note: he looked kind of nervous when he said that. I’m just saying.]

Me- well, then you are a disgrace to that delicious looking badge. Are you even a real ranger? Did you let go of the rope or something? should i be looking for your teacher?

Pr – hey, you’d better treat me with the respect this uniform deserves.

Me- I can’t, I already took a shit.

Pr – huh? Hey, you’re him! The shitter!

Me – listen, i’m going to break this down into an argument so simple, that even a Velcro-shoe wearing simpleton, such as yourself, could understand it.

a) you are looking for a man and a horse

b) I am a man-horse

c) Therefore, I am not who you are looking for.

It’s that simple deputy Doolittle. Get on your tricycle and get away from me before I call the real police.

Pr- listen, this is my jurisdiction and it’s an all-terrain vehicle.

Me- can you drive it in the snow?

PR- no.

Me- then I guess it’s a virtually all-terrain vehicle.

Pr-what? Don’t confuse me! Give me some i.d.

Me- my id? As in my primal desires. I don’t think you wanna see that.

PR – what?

Me – my id, my pleasure principle, come on man! make this interesting,

Pr – who are you?

Me- well, I’m 600 year old, investment banking, t-shirt wearing centaur who’s about ten seconds away from calling the cops and his lawyer on his very expensive cell phone [note: I don’t own a cellphone. They kind of creep me out]

Pr-all right, I guess you can go. But if you see the shitter you call me on your fancy cell phone

Me- what if I just see the guy?

Pr- then call me

Me-but I didn’t see them, so I don’t know what the guy looks like

Pr- arghh! Listen, if you see a man and a horse then you call me

Me- check. Keep up the good work, sergeant shitter.

I can’t lie to you, I derived a great deal of satisfaction as I watched constable colon walk away dejected and thouroughly defeated. however, i also felt a bit guilty, but then i remembered that he kinda of looked like a speciesist. FUCK speciesists.

after all the excitment, i trotted over to the empty ranger stations - lieutenant loose stoole was on the prowl for the shitters - and miterated upon it. then, just i was succumbing to the hypnotic sounds of my clip cloping, i spotted anna nicole smith fucking some homeless guy behind a gelato stand! can you believe it? the park added a gelato stand!

I hoofed it over there and ordered a bachio before i realized they had pistachio. PISTACHIO! i couldn't believe it, but it was too late as i had already ordered bacio. oh well, there's always tomorrow.

don't judge me. i judge you.

What a weird day. I’m trotting home from work when I hear someone calling out to some guy named Dan. Now, I don’t know why, but I look towards the source of the call and answer “yeah?” Next thing I know, I’m talking to the exemplar of physical female human beauty. What’s a 600 year old, t-shirt wearing, investment banking centaur to do?

Girl – uh, I didn’t know you were a … horse-man?

Me – centaur, actually; a horseman would be a guy riding a horse or, possibly, a guy visiting plagues and death upon humanity along with three of his buddies.

Girl –oh. So, uh, you didn’t mention this on your profile.

Me – oh, really? Did you mention that you like to wear … what kind of shoes are those?

Girl – milano blahniks

Me - …milano blahniks?

Girl – what does that matter?

Me – exactly! By the way, what did I talk about in my profile?

Girl – well, you said you were a doctor, you like foreign films, you’re athletic, and you liked kids. We’ve been talking for a month.

Me – sure, sure. See, I talk to a lot of people in the course of a day so it all gets kind of muddled. But I remember now. I believe I actually said I was a doctor who fan, which explains the foreign film thing, and I love kids. They’re delicious!

I’m actually an investment banker.

Girl – [skeptical] investment banker?

Me – yeah, basically, I tell billionaires and corporations what to do with their money.

Girl – [ relieved/pleased] oh, that sounds cool.

Me – yeah, I make a butt load of money Mandy.

Girl – Jen.

Me – yeah, Jen, of course, of course. Mandy’s my…secre…personal assistant.

Girl – oooo! That sounds exciting.

Me – I’m not going to lie Sherry, it is fucking fantastic to be me.

Girl – Jen.

Me – right. Listen, what do you do?

Girl –I’m an accountant and aspiring model.

Me – that sounds cool. Do anything I might have seen?

Girl – I worked at Balancing the Books as a junior accountant and was in their tv commericial. I…

Me – cool, cool, what’s that like a juggling troupe for nerds?

Girl – uh, no. it’s an accounting firm specializing in commercial tax problems. I was there as a junior accountant.

Me – right, right, very good. Good for you Jessica.

Girl – Jen. Where’s your car?

Me – hah! Where’s my car? Very proletariat. You’re adorable babe. Don’t change Chrissy.

Girl – Jen

Me – what?

Girl – Jen.

Me – well, it’s a bit early for a drink, but ok. You got a flask or something?

Girl - ? Jen, not gin, Jen. that’s my name.

Me – right. Listen kid, cars are for the poor and the déclassé. Haven’t you heard that all the big players are eco-friendly and socially conscious now?

Girl – really?

Me – you poor kid. Probably have to work 90hr weeks just to stay afloat eh? Listen, I’ll put you in the know. See, my ex-girlfriend and her new husband just had their baby in Africa and kicked off an unprecedented wave of celebrity interest in social causes.

Girl – your ex? Really?

Me – susan, are getting any of what I’m telling you?

Girl – Jen.

Me – one track mind, eh? listen, you go ahead, but seriously, it's a bit early for me. The point, Belinda, is that if we get into a car, even a limo, I’m gonna be burning up all sorts of social capital. Do you wanna juggle books for the rest of your life or are you gonna let me take you to the top of the social ladder?

Girl – no, I, uh, I don’t juggle, I mean, uh, what? Yes. Yes! Ok, let’s go. Uh, where are we going?

Me – yikes. Kelly, seriously, we’re gonna have to work on you third eye. You’re killing me, but you’re adorable. Listen, there’s this little Chinese grocery store with an outdoor fruit and vegetable kiosk. So, we’ll pick up some apples and condoms on the way to the loft.

Girl – is that a club? wait a minute, condo...

Me – club? Do you grow potatoes? Are you wearing coveralls under that dress? Listen, if you want to some club and let some twenty something kid cream himself while he’s dry humping you on the dance floor, go ahead, ok. Seriously. Where do you want to go? A monster truck rally? A bottle eating competition? Come on girl! Listen, anyone who’s anyone knows that hanging out at your loft is where it’s at right now. God, you probably think celibacy is in. do you think celibacy is in?

Girl – oh, no. no, of course not.

Me – well, maybe there’s hope for you yet.

Hey, [smile politely] fuck you.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s just the way the mind of a 600 year old, investment banking, t-shirt wearing, centaur works, but aren’t friends supposed to support one another? See, I’ve got a friend – a guy I thought was my friend – who’s been letting loose with the anti-horse legs propaganda when I’m around. The irony, apart from the fact that I’m constantly reassuring/bolstering his self-esteem, is that this guy’s a fucking satyr!

Look, I believe that all legged animals, be they bipeds, quadrupeds, or even millipedes, are brothers and sisters and thus should be looking out for one another. I don’t care if your feet have toes, are cloven, or consist of a series of villi-like tendrils; we’re all using them to propel ourselves across the same earth. That’s why it hurts when he tries to equate his shorter legs and corollary his shorter leg span, with those of mortal humans. See, it’s not just that he’s trying to deny his own difference by self-identifying with the smooth legged; it’s that he’s placed them on this pedestal which, de facto, places me in a subordinate position. Look, some of my best friends are smooth legged bipeds! I’ve got nothing against them, I don’t even begrudge their ability to climb trees, get into busses, and swing artistically around shiny brass poles. I love those things. I’m just saying there’s more to life than that.

Life is more than literature, than mathematics, than politics, it’s even more than the sum of those things. An individual, be it a centaur, a satyr, or a human, is far more than the collection of it’s parts, it’s the organization and harmony of its parts as they work in tandem with one another and the external world. A post-mortem reveals very little about a human being while offering a great deal of information in the way of how and of what a human being’s body operates and is composed of. Is your life restricted to your body’s mechanics?

See, there are great human beings, but humanity is what makes them great. Humanity is the spirit of exchange and interconnectedness. See, no individual would get anywhere in life if left to their own devices. From day one, an infant is cared for, not just by the human beings that are present but by all those that came before it. Humans are products of the sharing done by their ancestors; technology, behavioural tendencies, pedagogy, the knowledge accumulated up to a point is passed forward in the hopes that future generations will be able to expand them. Humans are where they are because they supported one another in the present and took pains to ensure that future generations would be supported.

What makes humanity great isn’t an advance in any single field. Humanity’s complication of life via the proliferation of all sorts of skill sets and/or epistemological frameworks, conjoined with the desire to pass them on for the benefit of future generations while, simultaneously, hoping that these gifts will be improved upon, is what makes humanity great. I guess, what it comes down to, is that humanity’s greatness is its dependence on social coherence, its desire to experience and explain the phenomenon of living in as rich a way as possible, and the practices it’s developed to ensure that its members stay connected. Humanity is more than belonging to the species homo-sapien, it’s about plugging in to life via an extended epistemological network (this includes the more qualitative aspects of life, ie. Emotions and all that jazz).

So I may not be able to tap dance – the saddest irony for all of those wearing horse shoes – but I am able to communicate with other sentient beings, I laugh, I empathize, I occasionally – like when someone dies or something – get a bit misty eyed. I am a sentient being with the same psychological complexity granted to the homo-sapiens, so don’t tread on me, man!

In sum,

you're not as fucking cool as you think you are. you're an evolving product of your place in an every expanding existential economy. You're a constellation of machinic connections subject to life's caprice. so fuck off with what you think you know, and start treating people with the respect and dignity they deserve.

shit head.

apostrophe mu'tha f'cka!

s'up y'all! That's my contraction salutation, I like to make the apostrophe key feel like a valuable member of the keyboard community. i mean, c'mon, are we going to relegate it to quotations and the occassional possessive? no. fuck no! Welcome, little brother apostrophe, to the fold. i felt as though that needed saying.

fuck it

i haven't posted for a while. i'm not sure why, but it may have something to do with a world wide conspiracy, a tainted batch of preparation H, and a kitten whose eyes are a little too shifty for my tastes. that story would take forever and i'm in the only internet cafe that allows centaurs, so i'll try to make this one quick.

i guess it all started one morning when, while brushing my teeth, i noticed that i had aged. i mean, all of a sudden, i realized that my body had aged, that it was breaking down, that i was on a crash course with lady death. the worst part about that realization was that i was using vanilla flavored toothpaste. do you know what vanilla flavored toothpaste tastes like? ass. it tastes like ass. perhaps an ass that rubbed up against a dirtier, sweater ass that had accidentally rubbed up against a third ass which smelled faintly of vanilla, but ass nonetheless.

so, there i am, contemplating my mortality and spitting into the sink when the phone rings. now, i don't pick up my phone, it's a thing, so there i am, sobbing like a cherub without a harp, vanilla ass flavored froth spewing out of my mouth, and trying to deal with the incessant ringing of the phone, while simultaneosly tending to the worst case of morning wood a t-shirted, investment banking centaur ever had to contend with, when it hits me: i'm not living to my full potential.
look, 99% of us aren't living to our full potential, but i'm not talking about that i'm watching the christian television network's call in show at 3 in the morning and the topic is "are you living up to your potential?" kind of failure. i mean, let's face it, if you're up at 3 in the goddamn morning and watching the christian television network's call in show, it's clear that you've fallen way short of your potential. that's an obvious and shallow representation of the kind of failure i'm talking about. i'm talking about we let them cancel arrested development kind of failure here people!

after coming to - there's a long byzantine chain of events occurring between the time i recognized my personal short comings and waking up covered in quail eggs and shaving cream but that's another story - i decided to hop in the shower. i'm having a good time, singing danzig's mother, when i hear a rap tap tapping coming from my commode door. stepping gingerly out of the tub, i prepare to confront whomever is out there by flexing my entire body and holding it while thinking of whistler's mother - i don't know why, but it arouses me. feeling flexed and confident that my semi would intimidate even the stoutest of men, i open the door to reveal noneother than my old friend roald dahl - the manticore, not the author. unbelievable!

it turns out that roald, who many consider the greatest mind chronicling the attic religions of korinithia especially in regards to his work on votive objects such as lamps, was offered a tenure track position at the local university. it turns out that they did not know that he was a manticore when they extended the offer. so this poor guy travels half way around the world, gets his visas, sells his belongings, etc, only to have some snotty, elbow patch wearing, mother fucker tell him that no lion with a man's head and scorpion's tail will ever teach at *********** university as long as he's the dean. can you imagine? the nerve! did roald eat a student? yes. in all fairness, it was an undergrad! he was on probation for christ's sake. did roald know that at the time? no. but, didn't kant demonstrate that intentions are devoid of moral worth? you can't lie to save someone's life and maybe, just maybe, you have to eat someone you've acidentally stung with your huge scorpion tail. if kant had a scorpion's tail who knows how the categorical imperative would have turned out.

anyway, distressed and unsure of himself, roald went down to china town and purchased a block of frozen octopus, some aloevera drink, and some lychee in the hopes that some non-pimply snacks might make him feel better. after purchasing his groceries and eating a small rat he headed over to my house where he proceeded to unveil his purchases. being a huge lychee lover i dove right in and discovered, much to my surprise, that these were the best lychee i'd ever had the pleasure of tasting!

i guess what i'm saying is, stay away from name brands and always shop at chinese grocery stores.